Déchirures
by Pluie Douce
Summary: She moved on, leaving him broken hearted. What happens when their lives collide again fourteen years later?


**Déchirures**

**By Pluie Douce**

**Chapter 1**

**|a broken heart|**

_*__Los Angeles_, ___California___

        Sydney Bristow drives casually through town, eyes bright. _Today_, she tells herself, _is a good day_. Parking her car quickly, she runs into a small coffee shop.

        "The regular," she says quickly to the clerk, as she opens her purse for the money she owes. She slaps it on the counter and grabs the cup of coffee that is handed to her. She sips it, instantly regretting her action as her tongue is burned slightly. She's back in the car. She drives and manages not to speed and get to UCLA on time. All business, she gets out of the car with a briefcase in one hand and the cup of coffee in the other.

"Morning!" a student calls out to her. She smiles and waves back.

"Sydney!" 

She turns. "Oh, hey, Desiree!" Her coworker approaches her, arms stretched out. Sydney hugs her back and smiles. "How've you been?"

Desiree McKee grins. "Fine, fine….And you? How are Sam and the kids?"

Sydney conjures up a mental portrait of her loving husband and two beautiful children, Jeffrey and Leila. "They're great," she replies, "just great." She pauses. "Jeffrey is turning fourteen this year," she remarks.

Her friend thinks for a moment before answering, "Next month, huh. Wow. They grow up fast, don't they?"

Sydney gives Desiree a wry smile and agrees. A glance at her watch tells her that she is running late. "Sorry," she apologizes, "I've got to run…"

        _You're so beautiful._

        She departs and half walks, half jogs to her classroom, her briefcase slapping at her side. Students slowly begin to file through the door and she sets her belongings down on the oak desk in the corner of the room. Shortly, the bell rings, and she walks over to close the door before turning to face her pupils.

"Good morning!" she says, her voice sounding high and happy. _That's the way to do it_, she thinks to herself.

"Good morning, Professor Brown," the class mumbles in reply. Many are still half asleep. Sydney is not surprised. Not many college freshmen love to get to class at eight in the morning. She raises an eyebrow, and when realization hits her, her full lips spread into a smile.

        "Let me guess," she says, studying her students' faces. "Last night was the big school-wide party, right?"

Reluctantly, many students nod. Sydney laughingly remembers the traditional welcoming party every sorority and fraternity holds on the same night for new members. "Okay. Here is a short writing assignment for you guys." She hears some groans from the back of the class.

"You guys, I'm an English professor at one of the best colleges in the United States of America. What do you expect?" There still is some grumbling, but she ignores it and continues, "Write a fictional narrative with one of the three following themes: romance, drama, and suspense."

"Why?" Her ears catch someone muttering in protest.

"These categories," she replies, "are what make life worth living." The words are only too true….

_        Dinner's ready._

        She shakes off the brief memory. "I'd like a rough draft by Wednesday. Two days is plenty of time to throw something together. You may begin now."

        _You have an oven. We can reheat._

        Sydney shudders. Why is she getting these weird lines all of a sudden? But they are not ordinary words. No. They are sacred words once whispered to her by someone in the past…

        Without warning, another memory hits her like a brick. It flies by so fast; she can recall only a few sentences:

        _I love you more than anything in this world._

_        I promise you, I will never leave you. Never._

_        Will you marry me?_

_*__San Francisco_, ___California_

        The weather is brisk, as usually. It nips at his nose and in response he pulls his coat around his waist tighter. 

"Have a good day!" his wife calls and he smiles back and steps into his car.

He hasn't changed much. Sandy brown hair, green eyes, they all remain. The only thing in him that is different from the person he was fourteen years ago cannot be seen by the mere passerby. He hides it extremely well, like a dark secret he wishes no one to discover.

He still works for the government, just not the CIA. No. After the day she left he resigned, moved up to the city*, and became someone who worked at the IRS office on Golden Gate Avenue.

Her departure had left him screwed up, broken to the last bone. He didn't know what his purpose in life was anymore. Everything he had known was ripped away from him in the most violent, sudden methods possible. _If I hadn't met Sara_, he muses, _I probably would have snapped._

Yet in a way, Michael Vaughn had already snapped. He had snapped the moment his first wife left him broken hearted. 

He parks his car; he's in Union Square. He walks around half a block to get to his favorite café and some ten minutes later he emerges carrying a large cup of coffee and a bear claw. He is about to open the car door when he notices his reflection in the car window. "Fourteen years," he says aloud, and he thinks of where he would be today if she hadn't left. He tries to picture her face. Would it have wrinkles? Fourteen years can change a lot in a person…Even though this isn't particularly true in his case. No, he can't do it. All he can remember is a fresh face, eager for life. She is flawless, he decides firmly, and even time cannot change that.

He opens the door and climbs in, but does not make any attempt to turn on the car. Instead he sits, in silence, wondering if she thinks about him as much as he does about her. He almost reasons that it can't be true. How many countless nights have gone by with him staring at the ceiling, her face in his mind? How many kisses has he stolen from Sara where he imagines that is her lips he is kissing again? How many days does he want to just get in the car and drive all the way to LA just to catch a glimpse of her?

Fourteen years can change a lot in a person, but it can bring up genuine feelings and revelations for others. In Michael Vaughn's case, it was the second reason. He knew only one thing.

He was in love with Sydney Bristow.

*"The City" is what San Francisco locals call San Francisco. I.E. "Do you live in the city?" means "Do you live in San Francisco?"

Author's Note: If you are a bit confused by the title "Déchirures", it will be explained in later chapters. All reviews are welcome, and if you do not like the story I request that you tell me where I can improve it. 

Next:

**Chapter 2**

**|the anniversary|**

**(Title subject to change)**


End file.
